


my perfect cup of coffee is the one made by you

by d_fenestrate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barista Bokuto Koutarou, Coffee Shops, Editor Akaashi Keiji, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, a lot of coffee descriptions, alternative universe, idk how else to tag this im sorry, it's honestly v v sweet despite the angst, told from akaashi's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate
Summary: Akaashi Keiji is not particular to coffee. Espresso or brew, latte or americano, he has little to no preference for the earthy beverage, save for its caffeine properties. He’s made do so far in life with cheap, ready-made cups, numb to the excessive acidic taste of the packaged coffee, and he’s not about to complicate things with luxurious preferences.That is, until one day he decides to finally accept a longstanding invitation by his coworkers to join them in a meeting at a random coffee shop nearby.Cafés are another thing that Akaashi isn’t particular towards either. Similar to coffee, it’s more or less a matter of indifference, as the young manga editor often finds himself in such crowded spaces only because of his coworkers or friends, and never by his own volition.That is, until one day he decides to accept the invitation to a specific café, called Fukurodani Coffee, and meets a certain barista by the name of Bokuto Koutarou.alt; a bokuaka journey told to the tune of seasons changing and coffee orders being exchanged
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 141
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020, Bokuto Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!   
> here's my first ever bokuaka and hq fic! it's just in time for the first day of bokuaka week day 1: coffee shop au. first off, big thanks to kalkalash for quickly giving it a once over.   
> secondly, it's a bit rushed as i did not expect to put out nearly over 5k words with this fic.   
> thirdly, if you'd like to accompany this with music, i listened to the [hospital playlist (kdrama) ost](https://open.spotify.com/album/1PSkXKOvGTtxcJzVLKa9ZP?si=Jcm8Xc31QD2fvFSg-BxzEQ) and this [coffee shop lofi mix](https://youtu.be/ROSLuZTWCRY) while writing it.   
> lastly, enjoy!

Akaashi Keiji is not particular to coffee. Espresso or brew, latte or americano, he has little to no preference for the earthy beverage, save for its caffeine properties. He’s made do so far in life with cheap, ready made cups, numb to the excessive acidic taste of the packaged coffee, and he’s not about to complicate things with luxurious preferences. 

That is, until one day he decides to finally accept a longstanding invitation by his coworkers to join them in a meeting at a random coffee shop nearby. 

Cafés are another thing that Akaashi isn’t particular towards either. Similar to coffee, it’s more or less a matter of indifference, as the young manga editor often finds himself in such crowded spaces only because of his coworkers or friends, and never by his own volition. 

That is, until one day he decides to accept the invitation to a specific café, called Fukurodani Coffee.

The first time Akaashi enters the café, it is to join a few other members of his staff for an informal meeting to proactively discuss a rather far deadline. He is late, caught up as usual in the office with a new round of edits due way too soon. He’d messaged in their group chat for the others to order and start without him, knowing well enough that his input would hold little to no effect on the results. Akaashi’s just ready to get the meeting over with to return to his work quickly so he can have an early finish to the day.

And so he enters, tardy and unbothered, a blank expression on his face as he walks up to the counter, ready to order the first drink he is able to see on the menu. 

_Cortado_. It’s the first drink name he catches a glimpse of, right after glancing at the largely lettered slogan, “Pour all your soul into each cup.” Akaashi pays no attention to it and settles his mind on a regular cortado. 

There’s no one at the counter for a bit and Akaashi waits patiently, looking around the wooden walled interior to locate the members of his group. They are seated at the end of the space, in a corner formed by large floor to ceiling windows and a wall covered in framed prints. Akaashi watches aimlessly at them laughing and talking, half finished drinks between all of them. 

Oh, so he is quite late, he reasons. 

A curse and loud footsteps alert him from his staring, drawing his attention back to the counter. Order ready on his lips, Akaashi mentally prepares himself for the end of this entire situation. 

Almost instantly, within a few beats of a second, all preparation is thrown out a window, leaving Akaashi wide eyed and taken aback. 

Beat 1: Upon first notice, the figure that had stumbled from the door to the left, past the row of espresso machines and right in front of Akaashi seems like any other guy. Nothing strange here.

Beat 2: Upon second notice, it seems that this person was a little more—Akaashi isn’t sure what word he’d use. There are specific features he finds his eyes catching onto, such as, the other’s button down shirt barely fitting his shoulders as the rolled up sleeves and tightly tied apron accentuate every other curve and line of his body. These are surface level details, shallow enough for Akaashi to shake off. Certainly nothing strange here. 

Beat 3: Upon third notice, it completely seems that this barista is _unlike_ any other guy Akaashi has seen, from the black and white spiked hair to the owlish, amber eyes, to the wide smile that blinds him immediately. The air around him is suddenly different and Akaashi feels a strange rush strike from his heart to his head. Strange. This is something Akaashi cannot shake off. 

“Sorry about that,” the barista says sheepishly, letting out a laugh loud and impactful enough to cause Akaashi’s heartbeat to react even more, enhancing the rush in his head. “‘Was handling inventory stuff in the back and didn’t notice you standing here. Anyways…” And with that, the barista turns all his attention towards Akaashi. “What can I get you today?” 

Preparation be damned, Akaashi feels his world turn on its heel as the piercing gaze strikes him like lightning, frying his brain completely. Unclear thoughts and emotions swirl in his head for the next set of beats within a second as Akaashi’s entire trajectory for the current moment in time changes. 

Get things over with? Akaashi blinks, clearing away the second of contemplation and looking forward at the barista with a new goal in mind. Unexplainably, he’d rather spent the rest of the afternoon at the counter itself than joining his coworkers and leaving them completely. Not wasting time in trying to figure out his own impulsivity, he rolls with the desire with a light head, erratic heartbeat, and a sudden flush of warmth across his body as the other looks at him in anticipation. 

“What would you suggest,” Akaashi’s eyes drop to the name tag on the other’s apron, his haywire mind short-circuiting even more at the _loud_ handwriting on the tag itself. Everything about this man is loud. Strangely enough, Akaashi finds it endearing. “Bokuto-san?”

“Bokuto Koutarou” blinks, the question taking a moment to process in his brain. Once it clicks, his face contorts in confusion. 

“You want me to give you a suggestion?” He asks. “Are you sure?”

Akaashi nods instantly. Another beat passes before Bokuto lights up within a second, emitting the brightness of a shooting star, eyes glimmering in amusement and excitement. 

“Well…” Bokuto starts off, trailing off immediately, not knowing how to address the customer. 

“Akaashi. Akaashi Keiji,” the other fills in for him. 

“Well then, Akaashi-san…”

“Akaashi is just fine.” 

“Well, _Akaaa-shi~_ ” Bokuto claps, moving to hold out his index finger in the air. “I am honored that you are asking me for an order. I’m afraid my choice will not be so simple. It depends on many factors, ya know? What type of coffee are you into? Espresso? Brew? Cream? Hot? Cold? Do you like nutty tones or fruity tones? Smoothness? There’s _so much._ ” 

“You don’t have to worry,” Akaashi provides, thoroughly enjoying the moment. This was a good impulsive decision. “I’m indifferent towards coffee. I’ll drink anything as long as I’m getting caffeine.” 

Bokuto’s eyes widen as he stills and looks at Akaashi as if the other had three heads. The quiet, shocked stare lingers for a little longer than a normal person can typically endure, but Akaashi remains unfazed, somehow pleased and content at all the attention the other seems to be directing towards him. 

“Well, that’s no way to enjoy a cup of coffee,” Bokuto starts, pouting a little with a frown. The sour expression immediately turns sweet as he laughs and shakes his right hand. “But no worries, I’ll make you my best cup of coffee. One that you’ll enjoy no matter what. A cappuccino it is! What size?” 

“Large please.” 

“A large cup it is,” Bokuto continues, inputting the order into the iPad in front of him. Following up with the transaction, he steps back and flashes a big smile and thumbs up. “Just sit tight, Akaashi. I’ll be back with the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.”

And Akaashi hangs back, lingering around the counter, craning his neck slightly as he finds himself unable to take his gaze away from Bokuto. He watches quietly as the barista moves smoothly through the motions, weighing out the beans, grinding them, and then pressing them down, arms flexing as gentle touches swivel the handle on the portafilter. And then, in one motion, the handle is inserted and locked in position with a few buttons pressed for the espresso to brew. A grey cup is placed directly underneath as Bokuto reaches for the milk and a metal jar, pouring out the cold beverage and moving to steam it. 

It’s mesmerizing. Akaashi has never paid so much attention to the steps leading up to the creation of each cup of coffee made for him in a café. He never even realized the efforts put into each cup of coffee, his own habits of instant coffee spoiling him with immediate, bitter caffeine. The way in which Bokuto feels for the milk to heat up, nodding quickly when the sides of the metal jar are heated to a temperature _just right_ , the process timed perfectly for the last drops of brown liquid to fall out, is hypnotizing, the care for detail and the effort for quality taking Akaashi by surprise. He’s not sure who’s surprising him more, Bokuto, the coffee process, or himself with how he’s reacting in the present. 

And then, for just a moment, Bokuto stops his expertly paced actions and moves slowly and intricately, pouring out the milk and foam, swirling around the pour in serpentine and staccatoed movements to create a pattern out of the suspended layers between the coffee, milk, cream. Taking a metal tool from nearby, Akaashi loses sight of the head of black and white spiked hair as Bokuto leans forward, most likely to add more detail. 

Bokuto emerges from behind the machines soon enough, sliding a finished cup of coffee in Akaashi’s direction. “It’s my best work,” He boasts, the excitement and pride flashing through his eyes as he waits for Akaashi to reply. The said manga editor marvels at the handiwork, completely captivated by the white, foaming owl on top of the drink staring back at him. 

“I’ll enjoy it well,”Akaashi replies, gingerly accepting the drink, heart pounding from both the appreciation for Bokuto’s work and the fear of disrupting the said art. “Thank you very much, Bokuto-san.” 

“Anytime.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Just as Bokuto had said, the cup is the best coffee Akaashi’s ever had, even if it tastes just like any other cappuccino he’s ever drank in his life. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And so, soon after the first encounter, it becomes a _thing_ . Akaashi finds himself gravitating towards Fukurodani Coffee more and more often, week by week, eventually leading up to perfectly timed visits on the days and within the hours Bokuto works. So much so, that Akaashi finds it easy and simple to shift his own work schedule to allow for at least 15 min breaks for a _quick_ coffee run. 

There is just something about entering the doors to Fukurodani Coffee, hearing the chimes as Akaashi heads straight for the counter. There is just something about seeing the majestically crafted slogan before being greeted by a large owlish gaze accompanied by a loud smile and laugh. There is just something about hearing his name roll off of the barista’s lips as Akaashi is asked for his order despite his answer never changing each time. 

“Whatever you suggest, Bokuto-san.” There is just something about the sparkle that appears in the barista’s eyes, the man shining just as brightly each time he is handed over the authority of Akaashi’s order. There is just something about witnessing the radiance around Bokuto as he starts running off excitedly, asking Akaashi about his day, how he’s feeling, and formulating a different yet perfect drink for each occasion. 

The first few weeks of this exchange are awkwardly sweet. There are days when Akaashi lands in the store at awkward times, running into different staff and leaving immediately. There are days when Akaashi lands in the café just at the right time, happily catching Bokuto’s surprise and glee when they both lock gazes. Sometimes on these days, the traffic is too much for a proper conversation, leading Akaashi to reconsider his timing. He gets it down soon enough, setting up a system in his head for achieving an entrance at an optimal hour during Bokuto’s shift where all of the barista’s attention can be towards him. 

Eventually, even Bokuto gets a hang of it, playing along with their repeated encounter, adding a little spice of his own with experimental orders, strange yet profound questions, and general old-fashion conversations of Akaashi’s and his life. 

It’s nice. It’s sweet. It’s _comforting_. 

Sure, Akaashi will admit that perhaps the drinks Bokuto orders for him can have little to no correlation with any of the questions Bokuto asks. Or at least, it doesn’t seem that they have any direct correlation, given the time he is served a hot cup of french press coffee on a rather humid and hot day, or how he is served an iced macchiato on a day he probably would’ve benefited more from a warm, cozy latte. There are also days where it seems that Bokuto has already designed his order, starting the conversation by talking about a new drink he’d dreamt off and that he thinks would be perfect to give to Akaashi. Not all of them are _perfect_ composition-wise, but then again, Akaashi is indifferent to his coffee. He’ll take whatever he can get. He’ll literally drink the first drink he sees on the menu.

The only exception to it all is if the drink is chosen by Bokuto. Because if the drink is chosen by Bokuto, then that means that he’ll have to ask Akaashi a plethora of questions, bombarding him with inquiry after inquiry, until he’s satisfied with the information he has to make his decision. And then that means that Bokuto will pour his soul into the cup, paying attention to the smallest of details, putting in so much care for a few ounces of caffeinated liquid. And then that means that Bokuto will hand over the cup, buzzing with excitement as Akaashi promises to enjoy the drink. 

It is details such as these that lead Bokuto to being the only exception to Akaashi’s coffee preferences. It is details such as these that Akaashi is able to say that his favorite cups of coffee are the ones made by Bokuto Koutarou of Fukurodani Coffee. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Seasons pass and this repeated encounter becomes second nature. Akaashi Keiji is now no longer able to go too long without a cup of his favorite cup of coffee, his caffeine dependency taking a different form. 

Akaashi cannot explain it. Nor will he try to. This is his comfort, his anchor to his hectic life in the midst of a job with way too many and way too stringent deadlines. 

Fukurodani Coffee and Bokuto Koutorou. The two have become Akaashi Keiji’s safe haven in the form of coffee. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s funny how predictably unpredictable life can be. It’s even funnier how drastically life can be influenced, turning a person’s world upside down and inside out all at once. 

Winter’s arrived. Time is approaching near the end of the year. For Akaashi, this is a dreaded time in the year as festivities and celebrations of both the end and start of new cycles run production companies insane, causing high level demands for special content, new material, and constant high spirits.

Akaashi is worked thin. His entire team is worked thin. Between old deadlines and new deadlines, old projects and new projects, old meetings and new meetings, it becomes clearer day by day that they are terribly understaffed and overworked. This results in Akaashi and his team camping out in their offices and at the nearest homes, doing their best to power through the constant cycle of sending edits, receiving rebounds, sending finalized material, and receiving new demands. 

It’s exhausting and all out thought consuming. Akaashi’s barely hanging on, having little to no time to consider important tasks such as meals, hygiene, and sleep. In the midst of all of this, a certain someone’s and something’s existence lingers in his head, demanding yearning from the editor. Funnily enough, this may be one of the only demands Akaashi is able to ignore, not out of conscious intent, but out of a position of extremely depleted energy.

The call to long remains. 

And Akaashi keeps working. 

And weeks pass by. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“What’s wrong?” 

Akaashi blinks in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Bokuto frowns and steps back, bringing a hand to rest on his face as he looks at Akaashi’s complexion, deep in thought. He hums. “You look… tired.” 

Akaashi’s eyes widen a little at the comment as the shock of Bokuto noticing such a detail just from his face registers in his head. This is partly because Akaashi isn’t necessarily the most expressive person in the world, and his friends often complain that they are unable to guess about what he is feeling or thinking about most of the time. 

To add to the confusion, Akaashi is dressed in a knitted hat, turtleneck, and long overcoat despite the autumn air still being slightly warm-- all to make him seem more presentable than tired, just so Bokuto wouldn’t notice his work getting the best of him. 

But Bokuto, someone he briefly engages with-- even if it’s only a few minutes daily---is able to catch such a detail so quickly. Even with their relationship being separated by the counter between the two of them, the barista’s able to break through Akaashi’s efforts of hiding and point out just exactly what he doesn’t want noticed. 

It is certainly _something_. Akaashi ignores the strange feelings bubbling in him as he focuses on the moment with Bokuto in front of him 

Akaashi sighs, shoulders slumping a little with him. “I’ve just been a little more worried than usual at work. There’s a lot coming up.”

Bokuto simply nods, soaking in Akaashi’s responses as he studies the man even more. After waiting an extra beat, he launches straight to his question. “So, what can I get you today?” 

“Anything you suggest, Bokuto-san.” 

The push and pull of their ritual never fails to perk up both Akaashi and seemingly Bokuto, as the barista, as usual, immediately grins from ear to ear, Akaashi’s order for the day already at the tip of his tongue. Some days are like this where the conversation follows through after the order. “How does a warm café mocha with an extra shot of espresso sound?” 

“Sounds wonderful.” 

As always, watching Bokuto give his all to a small 8 oz mug of caffeinated goodness is enough for Akaashi to find himself momentarily free of the burdens on his shoulders, as he hangs onto each and every one of the barista’s movements and facial expressions until the drink is ready by Bokuto’s standards. 

Sitting at the counter, Akaashi sips happily as Bokuto leans forward on the counter, replying merrily to all of Bokuto’s questions and comments, laughing at the jokes, and smiling at Bokuto’s elongated tangents. 

“Oi Akaashi, you can always count on us to give you a cup of coffee perfect to drive all the worries away. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Akaashi replies, picking up the cup just as gingerly as always and taking another frothy sip. _It’s not the café though_ , he wants to say. “Thank you, Bokuto-san.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_It’s you._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He could go to the café. He probably _should_ go to the café. Even if he doesn’t have time, for his own sanity, Akaashi knows it’s probably for the best for him to take his work with him and bask in the warmth and love that hangs in the air within Fukurodani Coffee.

However, Akaashi doesn’t go. He doesn’t leave his work nor does he transfer it with him. Not like this, he finds himself reasoning. At this particular moment, he’s nothing but a walking ghost of himself carrying the burdens of deadlines and new projects on his back everywhere he goes. 

Akaashi doesn’t want to bring the melancholy with him to the safe haven and its inhabitants. He’s not about to enter a perfectly happy place and destroy the aura with his hopelessness and outright downcast appearance. At this moment in time, the Akaashi he is doesn’t belong in the same place as Bokuto. He’d only hinder the shine of the other, and the last thing Akaashi wants to see are possible shadows of doubt, worry, or fear in the other’s eyes and on the other’s face. 

And so he doesn’t go to Fukurodani Coffee. He bans himself from the place, closing it off for weeks on end, wondering occasionally of when he’ll be able to feel deserving enough of Bokuto’s kindness to return again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Occasionally, he wonders, giving into the lingering longing in his head. It’s hard for him to want for something he himself has closed himself from. The pondering takes him nowhere and he ignores it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He starts to wonder more, unable to tame his tired, wandering mind. Maybe he dreams. He really can’t tell in between his half-asleep states. The pondering takes him down a path of hopeful possibilities and pain, and he ultimately forcibly ignores it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


One particular night, when it’s too quiet in his office with the others asleep temporarily at their posts, Akaashi stands. There is no thought, no intent behind the action. And he leaves the building, the early darkness of the winter evening greeting him with a biting chill. The time is about 7 PM. 

He wonders unknowingly and he walks, getting the fresh air he probably needed days ago. His insides shiver at the cold. 

Soon enough, without realizing, he’s made his way over to Fukurodani Coffee. Blinking, Akaashi stares at the bright sign, the soft lights from inside the café drawing him in. He doesn’t answer the call. Not initially that is. 

He’s hesitant to enter a safe haven after so long. There’s his own self awareness and concern holding him back. Along with it, there’s also the possibility that things may not be the same even beyond those familiar, welcoming double doors. Somehow, even considering such a change in the weeks he’s disappeared is far more terrifying than the changes he’s encountered before arriving at this point. 

With a shaky breath, his musters up the courage and steps in. Immediately, he wishes he didn’t.

Bokuto is not present. There’s a different barista standing at the counter, shifting around, sending quick, anticipatory glances his way. He’s a short guy, Akaashi notices, taking in even more notice of the bright orange hair. 

_Guess hair is a qualification to be hired here_ , he thinks to himself, still standing at the entrance. 

Hair qualifications aside, Bokuto _is not there_. Of course he isn’t, it’s not his shift time. Bokuto is not there and, simply put, Akaashi doesn’t want to order. 

But Akaashi is well aware that leaving at that moment itself may prove to be even more damaging for him. And so, with a sigh, he walks forward slowly, ignoring the bright smile thrown his way. 

The orange haired boy greets him happily, mirroring the energy levels of a certain very special someone. 

“Sorry,” Akaashi says, cutting through the other’s excitement. He winces inwardly at his own coldness. “I haven’t decided yet. Would it be okay if I stayed a little longer to decide?” 

The other—Hinata Shoyo, Akaashi reads from the name tag—pauses momentarily in confusion. He perks up almost immediately however, nodding way too quickly and way too much as he tries to reassure Akaashi to take his time. 

Without a second look, the tired man directs his way to the farthest table in the farthest corner from both the door and the counter. Slumping down in the seat, he leans forward and finds his head collapsing down into his arms. Turning his cheek to the side, Akaashi stares aimlessly out of the floor to ceiling windows to his left. 

Evenings during winter truly are something else. Darkness creeps up too quickly, consuming the blue, bright sky that has just managed to expand in its full radiance. Cut off completely by the night rolling in, daylight is limited, unable to warm up the frozen atmosphere from the night in time enough for night to return and freeze the world over and over again. There’s no time to recuperate, to catch up, causing a never-ending cycle of vicious cold. 

Sitting like that, in a contemplative stance, Akaashi finds himself almost forgetting about his ever growing to-do list. The reminder is sour and bitter all at once, mixing in well with his melancholic observations of the wintery world outside the warmth of the café. Yet, just like the world outside, even the warmth of the café seems to have been engulfed by his elongated and repeated nightfalls. The change in the café atmosphere because of his own weariness is exactly what he had been worried about. Akaashi curses himself for being foolish enough to even think otherwise, leading to his disruption of his only safe haven, cursing himself even more for expecting anything else when he’s the way that he is. Even Bokuto isn’t present, which should only be a sign for Akaashi, one he knew the message of from the beginn—

There’s a mix of a thud and a clink of ceramic on ceramic and ceramic on tabletop next to his head that brings Akaashi back to reality. Snapping up, he freezes immediately, tired eyes finding a familiar pair, one that he’d been yearning for just seconds before. 

Akaashi doesn’t say anything. He finds that he can’t. Looking down, he struggles to keep himself together as he sees the drink that had just been placed in front of him. 

A warm, steaming cappuccino with an owl style latte art delicately traced into its foam. The same as the first time he’d asked Bokuto to order for him. Even with the recognition, he’s unable to speak, struggling to put out a question even when Bokuto’s standing right over him in a surprisingly quiet manner. 

“I didn’t realize you were still on shift,” he mumbles way too quietly, not daring to bring his eyes up. 

There are sounds of some shifting. “I sometimes stay back to keep Hinata company.” 

_Hinata? Oh_ , Akaashi thinks. _The shorter one._

“That’s very nice of you,” he replies. His hands shake from where they’re tucked under his arms, worry, fear, and anticipation all mixing into one. 

It feels like eons before Bokuto responds, making the next move. He points to the chair in front of Akaashi, his finger falling right into the frame of the spot the editor had been mindlessly staring at. “Mind if I sit here?” 

With no hesitation, Akaashi answers, “Of course.” 

And so Bokuto slips into the seat in front of him, causing him to face the tired boy directly. If Akaashi’s eyes aren’t deceiving him, he catches what seem like hints of shadows underneath Bokuto’s eyes. These said eyes were also furrowed slightly, eyebrows upturned lightly to signal worry and concern. Bokuto’s ever so subtly chewing on the inside of his cheek as he studies Akaashi, the latter fully aware of the action as he’s seen the barista scan him multiple times for the sake of an order. He allows Bokuto’s eyes to roam around, too tired and overwhelmed with the other’s presence to deeply consider and mull over it. Bokuto’s hair isn’t as spiked as it typically is and Akaashi frowns, connecting the dots of the other’s condition. Dull isn’t the correct term to describe the lack of a certain Bokuto-specific factor. He’s more or less muted, held back, _cautious_ even. 

Akaashi hasn’t touched his drink. He can’t as he and Bokuto continue their obsessive tirade, soaking in each and every detail of the other. Akaashi realizes that for once, he is going to have to be the one to break the ice, slice through the tension, and cut to the chase. 

He chooses the simplest and quickest question he can come up with. “Why the cappuccino?” 

Bokuto blinks. Slowly, every so slowly, Akaashi sees the tension from Bokuto’s face release, bringing back the light and radiance that accompanied him at all times. It’s slight, not at full power. Even for that, however, Akaashi is grateful. 

“I guess,” Bokuto laughs softly, not at the same volume as usual. He rubs the back of his head. It’s almost sheepish and Akaashi can’t help but quirk his brow questioningly at the strange behavior. “I guess I just missed seeing you around. And when I saw you from the counter, I just acted without thinking and made it for you. It is the first drink I told you to order after all.” 

Akaashi freezes. So it isn’t a fluke. The cappuccino in front of him isn’t a coincidence. Bokuto _remembers_ . He remembers the first drink he’d ordered for Akaashi. And that occurrence was _months_ ago. Months of almost daily orders that Akaashi asked from him, and he still remembers the exact order they’d both started out with. 

It’s the same too, Akaashi realizes. The picture in the art in the mixing of the foam and the milk and the coffee is the same. The intricate owl stares back at him, flashing an extra heart that’s drawn to its side and Akaashi realizes that it’s maybe not the same. There’s more detail to it. More effort poured into the cup. More _care_ and _skill_ for how the milk and the foam balance with the earthy tones of the coffee, melding together to make yet another perfect image on yet another perfect cappuccino. 

And Akaashi realizes that he can’t help but ask. Just like always, he has to keep asking, partly to hear more of Bokuto’s voice—oh how, he’d missed it in the past few weeks—and partly to retain the small ounce of sanity he’d been hanging off of. 

“Why’d you tell me to order it back then?” 

“Huh?” 

Looking up, Akaashi meets Bokuto’s gaze directly for the first time that night. No running away, no looking down and about. “I never asked you back then. Why’d you tell me to order a cappuccino?” 

If the lights in the café weren’t so dim and the shadows of the night so dark, Akaashi would’ve caught the slight blush at the tips of Bokuto’s ears. He doesn’t have to, however, because the barista laughs nervously, playing at the back of his neck with one hand as he typically does when shy or unsure of a drink or new technique he’s used on an order for Akaashi. 

“Because I thought you were really amazing and I wanted to give you the best cup of coffee I could make,” he says, a light shyness playing at his words. “At that time, the best I could do was that cappuccino but I’m much better now.” His eyes suddenly widen and Akaashi recognizes the signs for an upcoming moment of self doubt and impulsivity. He’d encountered this occasionally, typically on days Bokuto experimented too much with his concoctions. “Oh _no_ , I should’ve made you a better drink. Fuck, Akaashi, wait I’ll go make you another on—”

“Thank you,” Akaashi interjects with a strong intonation and shake of his head. This pauses Bokuto’s sudden frenzy. “But, Bokuto-san, that doesn’t matter.”

At the comment, Bokuto’s face falls, his hair seemingly deflating with him. Akaashi quickly continues, not missing a beat.

“Any cup of coffee you make is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.” 

Akaashi’s words render Bokuto speechless, the other sitting quietly with his mouth slightly agape, eyes wide, and cheeks and ears flushed. It’s an endearing sight, and suddenly, Akaashi isn’t as hesitant to speak as he was before. 

“Bokuto-san, you pour your soul into every drink you craft for me. Literally. And because of that, I thoroughly enjoy anything you make me,” Akaashi speaks simply with a certain level of confidence even he didn’t know he had. When the other doesn’t look convinced despite the growing flush on his complexion, Akaashi sighs. “Surely, not all your drinks taste _perfect_ , but I like them just as much as the others. All because they are made by _you_ , Bokuto-san.” 

There’s a few beats within a second before the other reacts, Bokuto’s happiness erupting in a sudden burst of gleeful laughter. “I’m glad! I’m glad my coffees make you happy, Akaashi.” The brightness has returned completely, Akaashi notes and he relaxes to the tune of the other’s joy. Eventually calm and radiant, Bokuto leans forward in familiar fashion, the only barrier between the two of them now being the table rather than the counter. “Akaashi, did you disappear because of your work?” 

_This._ This is known territory and the familiarity drives Akaashi’s instant anxiety at the reminder of work away. “Yes, Bokuto-san. To be honest, I shouldn’t even be here right now, there’s too much to do, but… here I am, I guess.” 

With a nod, Bokuto withdraws in his seat and assumes his thinking position, one similar to the one he’d started off with during their first interaction. Akaashi waits patiently, just as he did back then as the barista scans him once again. A small part of him wants to recoil and leave, Akaashi being fully aware of his out of character appearance with his wrinkled shirt and sweatpants along with his disheveled hair and worn out face. But he doesn’t retract, finding it easier and more comfortable to allow himself to remain as the focal point of Bokuto’s attention. 

“Hey Akaashi,” Bokuto finally starts. Through the windows, a car rolls by, the lights hitting the barista briefly. “Can we exchange numbers? And meet on the weekends? Maybe even when the café is closed? This work thing is annoying but I’ll figure it out and get you the coffee you need, so don’t worry!”

Akaashi blinks, processing what he’s just told. The night stands as is, cold and still. “Bokuto-san, do you mean that you want to hang out with me outside of café hours?”

“Wow, that’s a better way of putting it but yes!” 

The chilled air around him dissipates as Akaashi sinks comfortably and basks blissfully in the return of the welcoming warmth of the café. “I’d like that very much.” 

Bokuto cheers. Outside, the stars and moon shine on brightly, despite the chilled night atmosphere. The barista playfully points at Akaashi, a brow raised. “But, if this is going to work, you’ve got to understand one thing. Coffee and I are a two-in-one deal, Akaashi Keiji, you can’t just separate one of us.” 

This time it’s Akaashi’s turn to genuinely laugh. “Okay, Bokuto-san. I understand.” He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He really wouldn’t. For, to Akaashi Keiji, any cup of coffee made by Bokuto Koutarou is and will always be the perfect cup.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Akaashi Keiji is not particular to coffee.
> 
> Sure, Akaashi Keiji couldn’t care less about that little café at the end of a random street in the middle of a rather busy area of town.
> 
> The only exceptions to either of these preferences are Bokuto Koutaro and Fukurodani Coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to delete this little scene as it didn't fit in the actual fic. but as it's bokuto's bday and this scene is really cute, i just quickly fixed it up for posting. 
> 
> here's about 1k extra of bokuaka cuteness with an excited barista!bokuto. 
> 
> hbd bokuto!!

Winter changes into spring and the new year rolls along cheerily. Akaashi cherishes his long weekend following the end-of-year and start-of-year frenzy by lounging in a freshly clean apartment in a turtleneck sweater and a casual pair of jeans.

His doorbell rings and Akaashi steps away from his couch to head towards the entrance, his giddiness kept perfectly at bay. With a deep breath, he turns the knob and smiles softly at the visibly excited man on the other side.

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” he says, opening the door and keeping it open with an extended foot. Bokuto practically jumps in, laughing back a good morning in return. Akaashi sighs as he catches a proper glance at the materials the other had his hands full with. “I thought I told you not to bring anything.”

“Don’t worry, Akaashi, just sit back and watch the magic happen,” Bokuto replies quickly, spilling the contents and starting to lay out his materials. Akaashi is unable to really tell what each item is, from the figure 8 looking glass utensil to what looked like a black, tinted pitcher. He shakes his head and locks his door, walking around to take a seat at his own counter. He chuckles as he catches Bokuto eyeing disapprovingly his batch of instant coffee on the farther end of the counter.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi calls out, breaking the other out of his threatening stance. With another glare at the powered caffeine, the barista turns to face Akaashi, head turned in confusion. Akaashi just quirks a brow expectantly.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Bokuto flusters. He pauses, eyes closed, before looking straight at Akaashi with a determined gaze that sends a shiver down his spine. “Well, Aka-a-ashi. Today, I will be teaching you about the beauties of brewed coffee. After this morning, you will be able to properly _cherish_ a freshly brewed cup of goodness unlike the manufactured bullshit,” his eyes dart to the end of the counter quickly before returning. “That you’ve been drinking all this time.”

Akaashi knows deep down that anything Bokuto tells him will make little to no difference in his coffee habits. Instant coffee is efficient and quick, and just what he needs for his job. Yet, he nods, nevertheless, encouraging the other to start their teaching session, watching happily as he sees Bokuto move smoothly and expertly through the steps of weighing and grinding coffee beans, to then setting up the—Bokuto called it a french presser and a Chemex—as necessary. Bokuto passionately elaborates on the reasons for each step, emphasizing how the temperature of the water can’t be too hot, or else the coffee will burn and then highlighting the importance of pouring slowly and carefully into the dip created by the first wash of the beans. When waiting for gravity to pull down the brewed liquid, he expands on the differences between the French press and the Chemex, noting how, based on Akaashi’s schedule, he’d be better off with a French press at his work with the Chemex being his morning cup. It’s a lot of information, and Akaashi, lost in Bokuto’s large, amber eyes that never stop sparkling in excitement, mindlessly repeats a few words every so often with a nod to indicate his attention.

Their dynamic has surely changed significantly since that one particular winter night—the most significant change being the growth of Bokuto’s role in Akaashi’s life from minutes of weekday encounters to hours of messages exchanged, dinners eaten together, and weekends spent either walking around town or lounging at one of their apartments.

Akaashi hadn’t realized it before, but Bokuto _is_ the embodiment of the Fukurodani Café aura that had once welcomed Akaashi and had then continued to calm and warm him through the most difficult of days. He realizes this now that Bokuto _is_ the beauty of Fukurodani Café.

No matter where he is, Akaashi marvels, Bokuto will pour his all into each cup, handling it with utmost love and care, eyes sparkling as he hands it over to Akaashi, whether it be a take away cup in a park or a large, ceramic mug in his apartment.

Akaashi smiles at the thought, leaning on his hands, perched at the opposite end of his own kitchen counter top, admiring the object of his love as the other dances around with a smoothness parallel to the coffee he brews. Bokuto walks up to him, pushing a cup on a plate towards his direction. Akaashi picks it up with glee.

“I’m so lucky,” he mumbles, cradling the steaming mug of French pressed coffee in his hands.

“Huh?” Bokuto hums from behind a sip. “You like the French press? I’ll leave it behind.”

Akaashi laughs, shaking his head. “I do like it, but I was talking about you, Bokuto-san.” He squeezes at the mug. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you.” 

Akaashi had expected Bokuto to fluster. Instead, his eyes widen at the hand coming forward to reach his own. Bokuto leans over the counter, bringing his face close to Akaashi’s, a sincere smile on his lips.

“I’m the more lucky one, Akaashi. I have a beautiful boyfriend who will drink any cup of coffee I make. What better luck is there?” And Akaashi has no chance to protest, to bring up that he really does enjoy every cup made, as Bokuto tilts his head to connect their lips, the kiss tender and soft. There are hints of coffee that travel between their tongues as Akaashi places his mug to the side to cup Bokuto’s cheeks, encouraging the other to continue.

Sure, Akaashi Keiji is not particular to coffee.

Sure, Akaashi Keiji couldn’t care less about that little café at the end of a random street in the middle of a rather busy area of town.

The only exceptions to either of these preferences are Bokuto Koutaro and Fukurodani Coffee. More specifically speaking, his only favorite ways of tasting and drinking coffee are by either consuming cups brewed by Bokuto or by tasting the flavor profiles on the barista’s tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/de_sociate) or [tumblr](http://de-sociate.tumblr.com)! 
> 
>   
> 


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